


How the Heart Approaches What It Yearns

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, White Collar
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Romance, Slash, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3821314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set about a year after the events at the end of White Collar Season 5, Neal tells Peter that he’s seeing someone – a guy.   When Neal brings him over to the house, the Burkes get the shock of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the Heart Approaches What It Yearns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lumosed_quill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/gifts).



> Originally written as a birthday fic for my dearest friend, Lumosed_Quill.

It was a little after ten AM on Wednesday and Peter was working his way through the department’s quarterly budget analysis (and deeply wishing he could be working on any one of a dozen active cases that his team was handling) when his personal cell phone buzzed. Peter smiled. The ringtone told him everything he needed to know about the caller. It was Neal. 

Peter answered, “Hey there. What’s up?”

_“I have the report you wanted on that suspected Manet forgery.”_

“And?”

_“And what?”_

Peter thought he could hear laughter in Neal’s reply. “What’s the verdict?”

_“It’s complicated.”_

“It always is, with you.”

_“Now my feelings are hurt.”_ Neal was definitely laughing at him.

“How about stopping by the office and explaining why it’s complicated.” It had been about two weeks since he’d seen Neal, and while he’d finally adjusted to the lack of day-to-day contact, Peter missed his friend more than he could safely admit. 

Neal didn’t answer right away and Peter thought they might have gotten disconnected.

Finally Neal answered. _“How about we meet for lunch. I’ve got something I’d like to tell you.”_

“Oh?” Peter was intrigued and a touch worried. “Everything okay?” 

_“Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just something I need to share and I’d rather not do it at the office.”_

“Okay. And it just so happens that I’m free for lunch today.”

_“And no deviled ham sandwich in the office fridge?”_

“No, but there’s a new deli around the corner that makes …”

Perhaps in fear of the stinky lunchmeat, Neal cut him off. _“Meet me at one at our usual place and it’ll be my treat.”_

“Your treat, hmm? How can I pass that up?” Diana came in, file in hand and a troubled expression on her face. “Look, I’ve got to go. See you at one.” 

_“Perfect.”_

Peter disconnected and turned his attention back to work. It didn’t take much to sort out Diana’s issue with an uncooperative witness – she wanted to arrest him and Peter suggested a softer approach. He continued to plow through the budget reports, alternately cursing his decision to take the promotion to ASAC and worrying about what Neal needed to tell him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pausing in front the restaurant, Neal straightened his tie, buttoned and unbuttoned his suit jacket, checked the line of his cuffs. He resisted the urge to duck into the men’s room and sniff his armpits. There was no reason to be so nervous. Peter was … Peter. Open-minded, tolerant, accepting.

What was it that he told him that first day, when he was flirting with Diana? Or trying to flirt with her.

_We don’t ask, we don’t care._

All very true. But still, it’s one thing to know from the beginning of a relationship that your co-worker is gay. It’s another thing to find out that someone close to you, someone who’s been firmly on the heterosexual side of things isn’t so straight anymore.

In his own head, Neal clarified that thought. _Apparently heterosexual_ , since he’d never told Peter about Matthew or Vincent or Wilkes or any of the men he’d had sex with to get what he wanted. 

And of course, he’d never told Peter about his own feelings for him. Because Peter was married and straight and devoted to the most awesome woman in his world. And he’d never be attracted to a criminal. Or a CI. Or a former criminal-turned-CI-turned-art consultant. He’d never want _him_ the way Neal wanted to be wanted.

Neal took a deep breath and headed into the bistro where he was meeting Peter. They’d had lunch here more times than he could remember, and the hostess smiled and pointed towards the back of the restaurant where Peter was waiting.

A wide smile pasted on his face to cover his nerves, Neal made his way through the maze of tables and found his friend, his pole star, the man around which his life revolved for so long, concentrating on the New York Times crossword puzzle. Looking at Peter, his head bend and lower lip caught between his teeth, the light catching the scant threads of silver at his temples, Neal tamped down the familiar feelings of love and desire, feelings that would never be returned. It was time to move on. Maybe he could finally believe that.

“Hey you.” Peter looked up and smiled.

Neal slid into the booth. “Thanks for meeting me. Appreciate it.”

Reassuringly predictable as the sunrise, Peter snarked, “Well, you’re paying, which might be a first.”

“That’s true.” There were times that he could barely afford a cup of bad coffee and Peter never let him go hungry.

“Are you sure you can afford me?”

“Art conservation and provenance consulting pays surprisingly well these days.”

Peter gave him a skeptical look.

Neal held his hands up in mock defense. “I’m an honest man. You know that.”

The look softened into fondness. “Yes, Neal. That I do.” Peter capped his pen and tucked it away. “And while we’re talking about business, what’s so complicated about the alleged Manet?”

Neal gave him the highlights. “It looks like it’s partially a Manet – possibly an unfinished or abandoned project from his atelier. The rest of the painting might have been completed by a member of his studio or someone who bought the canvas after Manet’s death. It’s all in my report – I’ll email it to you tonight. I don’t believe it is a deliberate forgery.”

Peter nodded, looking satisfied. And then curious. “With that out of the way, what did you really want to talk about?”

Before he could say a word, the waiter came by for their order. Once the waiter disappeared, Peter fixed him with a stare. “Spill. You’ve had me on tenterhooks all morning. This kind of stress isn’t good for my blood pressure.”

“It’s nothing bad, Peter. Nothing to worry about.”

“Neal.” Peter just breathed his name, one eyebrow raised.

Neal ground his teeth and did his best not to get annoyed at the obvious skepticism. Of course Peter had his reasons to be worried or suspicious. “I’m seeing someone.”

Peter’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful! She must be something special if you wanted to tell me like this.”

Neal took a deep breath and spoke before he could reconsider. “He, not she. And yes, he’s kind of special.”

Peter blinked and a dozen expressions crossed his face – most of them completely unreadable. Neal’s heart skipped at the last one, which looked too much like grief. He must have been mistaken. Then Peter smiled. “ _He_. He must be. Tell me about him.”

“Harry’s …” Neal tried to find the right words and struggled. “Harry’s English.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s all you can tell me about him? What does he do?”

“He’s between jobs at the moment.”

“Really?” Peter didn’t sound happy at all.

“Okay – Harry’s in law enforcement but he’s taking a break. He calls it a sabbatical and he’s thinking about going into teaching full time.”

“Ah.” Peter managed to convey a whole conversation in that single syllable. “I’d like to meet him.”

“Of course you would.” Neal smiled, still trying to find some solid ground between them. “Maybe you and El would like to come over for dinner on Saturday night? I know your weekends are sacrosanct, but …”

Peter counter-offered. “It’s okay. El’s taking a few days off this week. She’ll be home tomorrow, so how about if you two come over to the house?”

Neal relaxed, preferring this scenario. “As long as you don’t make your pot roast.” Realizing just how obnoxious that sounded, he fell back on an old stereotype. “Harry might be English, but he’s accustomed to good food. And your pot roast, well, isn’t.” He winced and felt a flush starting somewhere around his toes. Nothing like digging an even deeper hole.

But Peter didn’t take offense. “We’ll do those little hens you love so much.” And with that, the subject seemed closed.

The waiter came with their orders. A burger for Peter and a salad for him. The conversation moved onto less fraught areas. The Yankees’ prospects. Theo Berrigan’s ever-expanding linguistic skills. Clinton’s impending knee surgery. Nothing deep. Nothing important.

They finished and as promised, Neal paid. Peter insisted on leaving the tip. They walked a few blocks together and stopped in front of the FBI building. “So, Saturday at seven?”

“Yeah. Saturday. Seven o’clock. I’ll bring a wine and dessert, okay?”

“And Harry.”

Neal smiled. “And Harry.” Neal watched as Peter bounded up the stairs and disappeared into the crowd of government employees. He didn’t want to feel so bereft, but he did.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Thursday night after dinner, Peter told Elizabeth about Neal’s news. She just looked at him like he’d started speaking in tongues. “Neal’s dating a guy?”

“Yeah.” Peter tried his best not to sound utterly dejected.

“A guy.”

“A guy.”

Elizabeth just stared out across the room, equally dejected. “Okay. What did he tell you?”

“That his name is Harry, he’s former law enforcement, and he’s English. That’s all I know.”

“Hon…” Elizabeth leaned against him and Peter wasn’t sure if she was giving or taking comfort from him.

Peter sighed. He was really trying to be happy for Neal. Maybe this guy would be just what he needed – a steady, stable influence in his life.

“Are they in love?”

Peter shrugged. “He didn’t say that. He really didn’t say more than what I told you. I think Neal was mostly interested in letting me know he was seeing a guy. I think he wanted my approval. Or at least to know how I feel about that.” 

Satchmo, sensing his master’s distress, forced his head under Peter’s hand. Peter stroked the soft fur on his ears, absently taking comfort from the action. “I just wish I’d known. Kate, Alex, Sara, Rachel – all the women he’d flirted with for years. I never got the sense that he was bisexual, but I’d always hoped… ”

El rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I know. I’d hoped too. That maybe Neal would open his eyes and see what’s been in front of him all of these years. I’d have cast a love spell if I thought it would have worked.”

Peter pressed a kiss on the crown of his wife’s head. “My favorite witch, you cast an unbreakable love charm on me, though.”

“No, hon – you fell for my beauty and my vast intelligence.”

Peter chuckled, because that was the absolute truth. 

“So, Saturday night is the big night. Dinner – and don’t think you’re making pot roast.”

“Don’t worry. Neal already asked me not to. I promised him those little hens he likes.”

“Wise choice.”

They sat there, man and wife and dog, mourning the lost chances.

El broke the silence. “You still have friends in England? Maybe they could look into this Harry character.”

“Check up on him? Somehow I don’t think Neal would appreciate that.” Peter shook his head at the suggestion.

“And look what happened with his last girlfriend. You took her at face value and she turned out to be a homicidal maniac.”

“True.” And it wasn’t as if Peter hadn’t thought about having his old connections looking into Neal’s new boyfriend. “I’ll need a last name. And maybe fingerprints.”

“I think both can be arranged. Maybe even some DNA.”

“Have I told you recently that you are the best wife ever?”

“I think last Saturday, but that might have been during your orgasm.”

Peter laughed, El’s words chasing the blues away. There was no point in longing for what he couldn’t have.

Friday turned out to be one of those days when someone had cast a spell on the clock. He continued to plow through reports – this time his staff’s semi-annual reviews. His entire staff, which meant all thirty White Collar agents, as well as the twenty some-odd support staff members, correlating their performance against the bonus budget. It was enough to make him wish he’d quit while he was a probie. Or that he’d become a professional Quidditch player instead. And then he had to laugh at the utter ridiculousness of that thought.

Five o’clock came and Peter was out of the office like a bat out of hell. Not that he and El had anything more exciting than grocery shopping at Fairway planned. It was just one of those days.

As slowly as Friday passed, Saturday whizzed by. He was unaccountably nervous, which was all sorts of ridiculous, just because Neal was bringing a date. He knew he shouldn’t attach any special meaning to the evening. It certainly wasn’t the first time he and El had shared a meal with Neal and his current amour. They’d entertained Neal and Sara quite a few times, and even Rebecca had come over for dinner before that spell had been so badly broken.

Peter _wanted_ Neal to be happy. He knew that Neal’s best chance for a crime-free future rested would be if he was in a stable relationship with someone who was strong enough to counterbalance the temptations of the old life. He just wished …

“I wonder what Mozzie thinks.” El handed him a cup of coffee. 

“Of what?” Peter generally avoided wondering what the little guy thought of anything.

“Of Neal’s new relationship. But he probably doesn’t know, he’s been in Detroit for more than two months, working with Mr. Jeffries on the new group home. I doubt this is something that Neal would share with him over the phone.”

Peter chuckled, “And if he did know, he’d probably be jealous as hell and checking his spell books for an appropriate hex.”

El smacked him. “Don’t be mean. Mozzie’s not that petty. ”

Peter wasn’t so sure about that. A few years ago, on an evening when he and Neal had spent a convivial evening drinking and sorting through the never ending stack of mortgage fraud, Neal confessed that Moz was just about the best birth control on the market. He had an uncanny knack for interrupting him and Sara at very critical moments. Peter had suggested a lock. Neal had just laughed. “Locks can’t hold out Moz – it’s like he just waves a wand and the door opens.”

El interrupted his musings. “It’s almost seven – are you going to change?”

Peter looked at himself – the LaMoyne t-shirt and ratty jeans weren’t going to make a good impression, especially when Elizabeth was so casually elegant in black slacks and a blue knit top that made her eyes glow. “Yeah, give me a few.”

He bounded upstairs and smiled when he saw a black cashmere sweater and dove-gray trousers laid out on the bed. Trust the best wife in the world to take care of him. Peter took a quick shower and by the time he’d finished grooming and getting dressed, it was close to seven. Elizabeth was at her dressing table, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Dinner smelled delicious and Neal would be here soon. _Neal and Harry._

Peter tried to build a picture of the man Neal was dating based on the very scant evidence he’d been given. Former law enforcement. English. Thinking about becoming a teacher. So maybe he’s a little older than Neal, in his forties. But he couldn’t imagine a face or a body type. Neal’s tastes in women were so varied, except that they were all uniformly beautiful. And on the taller side. The best Peter could come up with was a slightly older version of Laurence Fox from Masterpiece Mystery’s _Inspector Lewis_. He played the erudite, deep-thinking, highly educated and somewhat troubled Detective Sergeant Hathaway. El loved the program and while Peter enjoyed it too – mostly for the relationship between the characters – he thought the crime aspects were kind of ludicrous. In the show, the tiny city of Oxford was practically the murder capital of England.

Peter shook his head, dispelling the irrelevant thoughts, and headed downstairs. As he reached the bottom landing, the doorbell rang. Satchmo barked once for form’s sake before going back to sleep. Peter twitched aside the curtain that covered the inner door. It was Neal and he was holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a cake box in the other. It was too dark to see the person standing behind him. The only thing that Peter could see was that he wasn’t tall.

Before he opened the door, Peter called out quite unnecessarily, “Hon, Neal’s here.”

El called back, “I’ll be down in a few.” 

Peter appreciated El’s strategic delay. He wanted to see the man Neal was bringing first. He wanted to size him up and make sure his gut wasn’t distracted by the need to make a good first impression. That was El’s job.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. 

Neal’s smile lit up the foyer. “Thought you were going to leave us standing there all night.”

“I’m just surprised you bothered with the doorbell.” Peter retorted. 

“I’m on my best behavior.” Neal put the wine and the cake box on the hall table and gestured for the man behind him to come in. “Harry, this is my friend Peter. Peter, this is Harry. Harry Potter.”

Peter held out his hand, but he couldn’t move. Once, a very long time ago, he’d been struck with a body-bind curse that had taken hours to unspell. The feeling of helplessness had given him nightmares for months. He felt a similar sense of unreasoning terror now.

Neal Caffrey was dating The Boy Who Lived.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry hadn’t intended to start any kind of relationship with anyone when he came to New York. This trip was supposed to be a break. It was supposed to be a chance to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. A time to heal from wounds old and new. To discover who Harry Potter was without the weight of expectation and fame crushing the life out of him.

But he’d done just that. He’d fallen into a relationship with a muggle. And yet, that was the least defining characteristic of the man. For the first time in his life, he could be nothing more than Harry Potter, a bloke from England, who had a little money and some time on his hands. A man who was between careers, who was as ordinary as the next guy. And he was having fun. The sex was exceptional, if just for the fact that he didn’t have to worry about what people might say when they found out that Harry Potter was a flaming poofter.

He wasn’t in love, but he had a serious case of like, and that was perfectly fine. It wasn’t as if his life was anything to write home about.

The public Harry Potter was the epitome of success. Just before his twentieth birthday, he had married into one of the oldest wizarding families in England, his sweetheart from his Hogwarts years. He’d been promoted to Chief Auror before he turned twenty-five. His name was whispered in certain circles as the next Minister of Magic.

The private Harry Potter was a sinkhole of misery. His days and nights were spent fighting the practitioners of the dark arts, a battle he’d been committed to since before he’d been old enough to shave. And he was exhausted. His marriage to Ginny was long over. They had almost nothing in common except for those desperate times at Hogwarts. What he had thought was love was little more than affection and a desperate need for family, which wasn’t enough to support a marriage. The rags – _Quibbler_ mostly – had made much of the end of his marriage, mostly because anything scandalous about him sold copies. So they fabricated scandal after scandal, almost all about his supposed infidelities with every woman in England. The lies couldn’t obviate the private truth of their amicable divorce, but they did end up destroying one of his oldest and deepest friendships. Ron had refused to believe him, was convinced that Ginny was lying about their separation, and hadn’t spoken to him years. 

After a particularly vicious battle against a group calling themselves _Novus Ordo Mortiorum_ , the New Order of Death, a fight that nearly cost him his life, Harry handed in his papers. Of course, the Ministry did everything they could to persuade him to change his mind. He was so desperately needed. After all, who would stand against the torrent of dark magic if not The Boy Who Lived? Harry hadn’t precisely caved the face of this emotional blackmail, but he gave in just a little, promising to rethink his resignation on the condition that he would be left alone for at least three months. He wasn't going to change his mind, but he needed a little peace from their demands.

Harry knew the Ministry. He knew that as long as he remained in England, he’d be at their mercy and it would be near-impossible to refuse their requests for help. No matter how tired, how worn out and worn down he was, he be back and leading the fight.

But these were all lies he told himself so he didn’t have to face the truth. The exhaustion, the broken marriage, the lost friendships, just excuses to avoid dealing with what he really wanted, what he could never have. He could have stayed in England and told the Ministry to shove it. Harry could have taken up a post at Hogwarts and done what he really loved – teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. But if he did, it would have meant seeing _him_ every day. Sharing meals at High Table. Being friendly in the way that you have to be with colleagues – that meaningless distant way. Looking at him but _not_ looking at him. Staring at a point just over his right shoulder because Merlin forbid he catch you staring at him and make some snarky remark that would set everyone laughing.

_Him_. 

Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater and now Potions Master at Hogwarts. _Him_ , who he lusted after (and maybe loved) just as much as he hated. It was all so fucked up and that made everything else he wanted impossible. 

Laid up in St. Mungo’s after the battle and healing from his wounds, Harry had begun making plans. He had enough money and more than enough influence to set the wheels in motion. Muggle paperwork was essential if he wanted to leave England without the wizarding world being any the wiser. A copy of his birth certificate led to a shiny new British passport. Galleons were changed for muggle pounds and lots of those pounds meant he could travel in comfort. He had obtained a few credit cards – one silver and one black – and he’d made arrangements to have the bills paid on time. 

Harry had spent too many years under the stairs, hearing Vernon and Petunia arguing about finances, not to understand how things worked in the mundane, muggle world.

Hermione, who was still Harry’s friend, despite Ron’s pigheaded insistence that she cut ties with him, told him he was nuts. To go to New York where he knew no one? Where he had no plans? And worse, to leave his magic behind? To blend in and pretend to be a muggle? That seemed to be the height of insanity. He had smiled and kissed her cheek, promising that no harm would come to him. After all, he was not only the Boy Who Lived. He was the Man Who Died, too.

New York was both a revelation and a disaster. Magic was everywhere, the streets were thick with it. But no one seemed to be aware of what was right before them. Whores of all sexes whispered to him in Parseltongue, half the pigeon population were animagi. The foul odor that rose out of the subway vents was not generated by a hundred years of continuously operated machinery, but the collective flatulence from a nest of basilisks that fed off the garbage so casually tossed onto the train tracks. 

Harry had never felt anything quite like it. The closest experience was his very first trip to Diagon Alley. But New York was as different from that hidden part of London as chalk was from cheese. New York was a massive and modern city with magic pulsing from every street corner and subway vent. A city with millions of people moving about, people freighted with magic they had no clue they had. 

Harry had been in New York for a week when disaster struck. Bored with his own company, he’d left his hotel without any particular destination in mind, thinking about heading to Central Park for no other reason than to check out the rumors that there were merpeople in the lake. It was a pleasant jaunt, heading up the length of Manhattan with its wide sidewalks and inviting shops. And when it happened, he didn’t even realize it. Maybe it was his own fault. Despite years of trauma and drama, decades of fighting for his survival, he’d lived a sheltered life – rarely venturing out into the wider, mundane world. At some point in his journey, his pocket was picked.

Harry hadn’t even realized it until he’d gotten to the park and went to purchase a bottle of cold water. He’d patted his hips, fumbled with his jacket and probably sounded like an idiot when he tried to figure out what had happened.

The man at the cart looked at him suspiciously but suspicion was replaced by a simple act of kindness as Harry pushed the bottle of water back and mumbled his apologies. “Ah, boy – you’re not from around here, are ye?”

Harry nodded.

“New York’s a better, kinder place dese days, but dere’s always someone looking to take ye.” The man pushed the bottle back at him. “Take it and pay it forward someday.”

That wasn’t an expression he’d heard before. “Pay it forward?”

“Yah, do somethin’ nice for someone just because.”

Harry nodded in understanding. The water was cold and had tasted a lot sweeter for the stranger’s kindness.

Instead of exploring the lake, Harry walked back to his hotel. The credit cards had to be cancelled and replaced and he was going to need more American money. And new ID. Being a muggle – or at least pretending to be one – was a pain in the arse. At least he hadn’t had to worry about his passport – that he’d stored in the hotel room safe.

Foot-weary like he hadn’t been since his days wandering the length and breadth of England, looking for the horcruxes, he stumbled into his hotel and uttered a short, vicious expletive. He’d put his room key in his wallet, and while _alohomora_ would work on the electronic muggle locks, the incantation might fry their circuitry. And given just how much magic there was floating around the city, Harry had been concerned about the effects of a randomly uttered spell on the rest of the building.

So he’d stopped at the reception desk to ask for a replacement key card and hoping that he wouldn’t have to produce some kind of identification.

Just about to explain that he’d lost his wallet, the young woman at the deck smiled at him. “Mr. Potter, this just might be your lucky day. There’s a man waiting in the lounge, he says he’s found your wallet.

Harry had been sure he’d heard correctly. “My wallet? Someone’s come to return my wallet?”

“Yes. Sometimes people do nice things.” The woman pointed towards the lounge. “Hope he’s still waiting. Been here about an hour.”

He had gone into the lounge, not sure what he’d expected to find. What type of person returned a stranger’s wallet? 

The lounge was dark, the blinds dropped against the late afternoon sun. There was only one person there and the deep shadows made it difficult to see what he looked like. The hat hadn’t helped either.

He must have made a sound, because the man looked up and Harry almost stopped breathing. _Impossible, there are no full-blooded male veelas_

Harry let out a sigh of relief when the man removed his hat and the illusion of perfect siren-like beauty was shattered by the shaft of sunlight cutting through the blinds. The hot light betrayed the subtle flaws of age – silver-gray in his late-day scruff, very fine lines at the edges of his eyes, in the corner of his mouth. Whoever – whatever – he was, he was one of the most beautiful men Harry had ever seen.

“You are Harry James Potter?”

Harry nodded, still a little stunned.

“Then I have something of yours.” He took a wallet – _his wallet_ – out of an inner pocket in his suit jacket.

“Where did you find it? I didn’t even realize I dropped it. Not until I got to Central Park and wanted to buy a bottle of water. How did you find me?” Harry had babbled, wondering if he’d need to put a _silencio_ charm on himself to shut up.

The man just held out the wallet and Harry took it, this time shoving it in his front pants pocket. “You didn’t lose it. Your pocket was picked when you’d stopped to admire the display at Schribner’s. And I found you because you put your room key in it – there’s only one Aurora Hotel in Manhattan.” 

Harry vaguely remembered that he’d stopped in front of a bookstore for a moment. There had been a display of best-selling novels, including a saga about a boy wizard’s triumph over evil. He’d been tempted to buy it and send it to Hermione as a lark. “Are you a policeman? Did you arrest him and get it back?”

The man laughed, the sound strangely self-mocking. “No, not a policeman. Not a member of law enforcement at all. I just picked _his_ pocket.”

Harry blinked, not sure he’d heard correctly. “Excuse me?” 

“I know the pickpocket, he’s not a friend of mine.”

“So you thought you’d just take what wasn’t his and give it back to me?”

The man stood there, hands shoved in his pockets. “Truthfully, once upon a time, I might have kept the cash and ditched the rest.”

“But you decided to do a good deed today?”

“More like I’d remembered that there were people who’d be disappointed in me if didn’t return it. That maybe I’d be disappointed in myself, too.” The man was nothing if not enigmatic.

“I’m not really following.” Harry hadn’t felt quite this at sea since he’d first boarded the Hogwarts Express. “But maybe I can buy you a drink and you can explain.” _What the hell was he doing?_

His blue eyes lit up, as bright as the sunlight still streaming between the blinds. “Sure.” 

Harry gestured towards the bar. “I don’t know your name.”

The man had laughed, and again, Harry wasn’t quite sure what was so funny. “Neal. My name’s Neal Caffrey.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal kept fussing with his clothes.

“Why are you so nervous?” Harry was stretched out on the bed, dressed except for his shoes.

“I don’t know.” 

“It’s not like we’re meeting your parents, right?”

“God, no. Peter and Elizabeth are _not_ my parents.” _Thank god._

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Neal sighed. There were times – like now – when Harry was the wisest, most level-headed man he’d ever met. Nothing seemed to faze him. And there were other times, when he seemed far too world-weary and cynical for someone only in his mid-thirties. “You’re right. There’s no reason to be nervous. I’m just introducing you to my best friends.” He tried to convince himself that this was all that it was. It was just that he’d been dating – okay _fucking_ – Harry for two months, and until this past Wednesday, he hadn’t even mentioned him to Peter.

“Is it because I’m a guy?” Harry got off the bed and stood next to him. “Or because I’m short?”

Neal burst out laughing. “Maybe.” The humor dispelled the vague anxiety that had been dogging him all day. “Let’s go. The car will be here soon.”

Harry found his shoes, Neal picked up the wine bottles and cake box and they went downstairs. June was out of town, and frankly he was relieved. His friend and landlady had a very odd reaction to Harry. Every time she saw Harry, she stared at him. It seemed, to Neal, like she wanted to say something, but was afraid to. Or that she knew him. Harry, for his part, ignored June’s behavior and was as pleasant and distantly friendly to her as he was to anyone. Neal just told himself that Harry was entitled to his secrets.

He’d made it clear, up front, that he was on leave from a dangerous job. All he’d say about it was that it had to do with law enforcement and he couldn’t talk about it. Neal drew his own conclusions, figuring Harry was in the intelligence business or worked undercover. It didn’t help that Harry was some kind of cop, which was a fatal weakness for him. Mozzie would undoubtedly accuse him of Stockholm Syndrome or something more crude and cutting, except that Mozzie wasn’t in New York at the moment. 

Which was for the best. 

For his own part, Neal hadn’t kept his past a secret. In fact, he’d pretty much spilled everything to Harry over a bottle of single malt the day he’d returned his wallet. He couldn’t say what propelled him to do that. Maybe it was the world-weariness in those green eyes; they were far too old for such a young man that made the idea of secrets irrelevant. Besides, Harry was a stranger and that made it way too easy to tell him about all the disasters that made up his life.

He hadn’t judged or seemed shocked when Neal told him about his life as a con artist and a thief. All he’d wanted to know was if he’d ever really hurt anyone. 

“Not intentionally – except for the time I shot a former lover in the leg to keep him from murdering my best friend. Peter.” At least Neal some sense of discretion and didn’t tell Harry about his complicity in Elizabeth’s kidnapping, or how he’d disappointed Peter so many times he’d lost count. He hadn’t figured that “hurt” meant “emotional pain.”

A feeling of impending disaster creeped into the car and it was so thick that by the time they’d crossed the Manhattan Bridge, Neal was nauseous from it.

“You all right?” Harry squeezed his thigh.

Neal took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You want to cancel? I’m sure your friends will understand if you tell them you’re not feeling well.”

“Nah.” Neal shook his head. “Peter and El are expecting us and if I cancelled now, they’ll really want to know why and ‘panic attack’ isn’t an excuse I’d ever want to give them.” He didn’t tell Harry that he never lied to Peter, except when Elizabeth asked him too. That was too difficult to explain.

Harry’s eyes glowed sympathetically behind his glasses. “I’ve been there – with the panic. I know just how you feel.” 

Neal wanted to ask for details, but the car turned onto DeKalb and there was no time. He just leaned over and brushed his lips against Harry’s, enjoying the taste of spearmint and coffee. “We’ll be fine. Peter and El will like you, and you’ll like them.”

“Your friends sound wonderful.”

Neal stifled a sigh. He knew he’d talked way too much about Peter and El, and probably more about Peter than anyone. But how could he not, when Peter was so central to the life he was trying to make for himself?

The car pulled up in front of Peter and Elizabeth’s, and it was definitely too late to turn back. He bounded up the steps like he’d done a thousand times before and rang the bell. He usually didn’t stand on ceremony, but with Harry, it would be kind of strange to use his lock picks to let himself it.

Neal pasted his brightest smile on his lips and waited for Peter or Elizabeth to answer the door.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter stared at Neal’s date. At Harry Potter. At Harry-Who-Saved-The-World-Potter.

“Peter?” Neal’s tone suddenly had an edge to it, hard and unpleasant. And thank god, because that broke the spell. 

“Sorry.” He held out his hand and said with forced cheer, “Pleasure to meet you, Harry.”

Harry, for his part, didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “Pleasure to meet you, too. Neal’s told me a lot about you.”

Peter could hear himself making some stupid joke about not being there to defend himself and they laughed, but it all sounded _wrong_ , though. How in the world did Neal Caffrey hook up with Harry Potter?

“Are we going to stand in your foyer all night, or can we go into the living room?” There was still an edge to Neal’s voice, and it was getting sharper with every word.

Peter apologized again. “Come in, relax. Do you want a drink or something?” 

Harry look at Neal, who shrugged. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Neal?”

“A glass of wine, provided it doesn’t come out of a screw-top bottle. Or a box.”

Peter tried for a chuckle, except it sounded like he was coughing up a hairball. “I think I can manage that.” He pulled out a bottle at random from the wine rack; a Pinot Noir that El picked up a few months ago. He showed it to Neal, who nodded his approval a little tersely.

He poured the wine and handed Harry a glass first, and the one to Neal. He didn’t pour one for himself. Drinking anything alcoholic right now would be a bad idea. 

The awkwardness was painful and he could feel Neal’s disappointment and anger like an impending storm. He knew what Neal was thinking, that he was uncomfortable with Harry because Harry was a man. _If only he knew the truth._

At least Harry Potter (and Peter had a hard time thinking of him as simply _Harry_ ), who had probably spent the better part of the last sixteen years ignoring the stares of the curious, didn’t seem at all bothered by his behavior.

Peter wished that El would hurry up and help him get his bearings. Then he remembered and wished that he had a way to warn her.

“So – how’s the wine?” It seemed the least innocuous thing he could say.

“It’s fine. You’re not having any?”

“Maybe in a bit, when El joins us.”

The three of them moved around the room, and it seemed as if they were unwilling actors in the third act of some performance right out of the theater of the absurd. It only got worse when Harry bent to pet Satchmo. Peter cringed as his beloved familiar drew back his teeth and growled.

Harry, realizing a little too late, just what Satch was, drew his hand back and apologized.

Neal stared at the dog and then at Peter. “What’s gotten into him?”

Peter shrugged, of course he really couldn’t tell Neal that familiars were very particular about letting other wizards or witches touch them. He – as a muggle – was perfectly safe, but Harry Potter was definitely not.

This was not going well at all. 

Finally, they heard Elizabeth coming downstairs. He thought about waylaying her, telling her who “Harry,” give her a chance to prepare herself. But it was too late.

Neal went over to her at the bottom of the staircase, cutting off her view of the other occupants. Peter watched as he whispered something to El – probably something about his vile behavior – and his wife gave him a reassuring smile. Peter stayed frozen, leaning against the fireplace mantle. Harry had put his glass down and was looking at Elizabeth, a curious expression on his face.

_Damn, he recognizes her._

Peter watched as Neal took El’s hand and brought her into the living room to make the introductions. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Neal hadn’t gotten the chance to say his boyfriend’s name when Elizabeth blurted out, “Holy shit, you’re dating Harry Potter.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry had come to New York for two reasons – to make sense of what he wanted from the rest of his life and to escape the weight of his magical heritage. Almost two months after he had arrived, it was pretty clear that he wasn’t going to achieve either goal.

Even that first week, before he’d met Neal, some people seemed to recognize him. There was a man on the steps of a tall and nameless building who looked at him and nodded his head in respect. A woman at a coffee shop who stifled a gasp when he ordered a drink – something called an Americano – but she’d said nothing, giggled and refused to meet his eyes. He was familiar with that behavior in London, but he hadn’t expected it here in New York

As the weeks passed, it got steadily worse. He’s spend time with Neal in museums and art galleries, going to concerts and cultural events, and he was recognized. Eyes would follow him, and most were kind or awestruck, although there were a few hostile stares and Harry thought he recognized at least one Death Eater who’d evaded prosecution in England.

Neal, for his part, seemed oblivious to those curious looks. Or maybe he thought people were staring at _him_. He was, after all, startlingly beautiful and Harry found himself rethinking his initial impression, that Neal was at least part veela. Except that Neal had no magic other than his beauty. Oh, he was talented in ways that Harry had a hard time wrapping his brain around – like his facility with languages. It was almost beyond comprehension that Neal could speak nine separate languages, understand three or four more, and he learned them the muggle way. No spells, no incantations or charms or magical objects facilitated the process.

There were times that Harry was tempted to work a tiny spell, to test Neal’s reaction. Maybe wafting a feather across the room or producing some rare flower out of nowhere. But that seemed like the worst sort of trick to play on someone he had no plans on making a life with.

At least he’d been upfront with Neal about that, and Neal, for his part, seemed relieved. He’d told Harry that he was done with falling head-over-heals in love. Yes, he’d wanted something more than a friends-with-benefits relationship, but he wasn’t interested in setting up house with anyone. His heart wasn’t in it.

Harry suspected that Neal was already in love. In love with someone he couldn’t have. It was also pretty damn obvious who it was. He wished that Neal would admit it, so they could commiserate together. But he didn’t, and Harry didn’t talk about Draco.

Maybe one of the most soothing things about his relationship with Neal was how little Neal pried. Harry had shared some details – heavily edited for muggle ears – telling him about his marriage to Ginny and the damage their divorce caused to his relationship with Ron. He talked about his sad and pathetic childhood. About how every adult in his life turned on him at some point – or died.

Neal hadn’t given him platitudes or cried for him or tried to dig out the details. He’d just let Harry ramble, much the way that Neal himself had done when they’d first met.

It was all so freeing. Which was why Harry hadn’t seen the impending disaster. Neal had frequently talked about his time at the FBI, and his friend – although he was careful to refer to him as his “handler” – Peter Burke featured prominently in his stories. There was such affection and longing in Neal’s words, Harry didn’t need to cast _legilimens_ to discover what Neal was feeling.

Maybe if he had, he’d have _seen_ Peter Burke and recognized him. And been prepared.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry was an utter mess. Decades of corruption and mismanagement had left it in shambles. Kingsley Shacklebolt, with typical wisdom, sent a call to the magical orders around the world, asking for help in reorganizing the Ministry, in weeding out the corruption, in reestablishing law and order and justice. Harry – who’d forgone the optional “eighth year” at Hogwarts to become an Auror – had just finished his training when he’d been assigned to work with an American wizard. 

Peter Burke had been something of a revelation. Harry hadn’t met many Americans, although he’d certainly seen a few American shows on the telly (when he’d been allowed to watch it at the Dursleys’). They seemed to be a loud, brash and rude people, wearing big hats and cowboy boots, always stealing things and sleeping with other people’s wives. Or shooting people with guns.

Although he wasn’t loud or brash, Peter Burke wasn’t soft-spoken or deferential to the great English wizarding heritage either. He – and a handful of other Americans – rather diplomatically swept aside the old order, making sense of a bureaucracy that had become so infatuated with its own rules that it couldn’t see the corruption that destroyed it from within.

He was also a damned good wizard. It hurt to admit it, but he might have been as good as Albus Dumbledore or Severus Snape. Or even better. Except that Peter Burke, like the other Americans, only used magic as a last resort. They seemed to prefer the muggle way of living, using machines to take care of chores like cleaning and cooking and getting around. And when there were no machines to do the work, they did things without magic, too. For Merlin’s sake, Peter Burke folded his own clothes. He’d offered a simple explanation. “It takes the same amount of energy to fold my shorts whether I use magic or I do them the mundane way. Why call attention to things?”

Harry wasn’t sure he understood, but he enjoyed his time working with the American, regardless of his odd preferences for muggle ways of doing things. It helped soften the memories of the years with the Dursleys.

Harry had worked with Peter for nearly a year and it came as a shock when the man told him that he was going back home. He’d been offered the chance to take up a less life-threatening role in muggle law enforcement and he’d decided to take it. 

“But they use guns!”

Peter clapped him on the back and laughed. “And they have bullet proof vests, too. Besides, everyone in my department will be a witch or a wizard, and we’ll watch out for each other. And honestly, guns are a hell of a lot less scary than rogue wizards bent on world domination.”

He’d kept in touch with Peter for a brief while, even inviting him to his wedding. Peter had declined, letting him know that he was getting married soon, too. Ironically, to a woman that Harry had known, albeit very slightly. He’d been in his second year at Hogwarts when Elizabeth Mitchell arrived to do a “year abroad.”

Their paths had crossed a few times, mostly because she’d been sorted in Gryffindor. She’d made friends quickly with all of girls, even Hermione – who’d been impressed by the American witch’s skills. Elizabeth didn’t last the full year, though. Her parents had pulled her out of school and took her home right after the basilisk had frozen Colin Creevey, and that was the last he’d seen of her.

After his wedding and all the failed attempts to start a family, Harry had deliberately let the connection fade. He’d never quite forgotten about the brilliant and somewhat idiosyncratic American wizard, but the memory became so dim that when he listened to Neal talk about his friend, his _handler_ , Peter Burke, Harry hadn’t made the connection.

He’d had the barest few seconds to cover his shock when Peter had opened the door. However, he’d been so accustomed to ignoring his own fame, that it was easy enough to pretend not to know Peter. 

Peter, though, had a hard time covering his shock and surprise. It was possible that Neal had never mentioned his last name, and Harry was certain that he was the last person Peter had expected to turn up as Neal Caffrey’s new boyfriend.

The next few minutes were terribly awkward. Neal was angry at Peter’s behavior and Harry did his best not to lay a soothing hand on him and tell him it was okay. But that would mean all sorts of explanations that neither he nor Peter were able to provide. So he followed Peter’s lead and did his best not to make the situation any worse.

At least until he heard Peter’s wife come downstairs and remembered his very slight connection with the woman. He held out a tiny bit of hope that she didn’t.

That hope died a very swift death when Neal introduced him to her. Her reaction would have been comical if it wasn’t for Neal and the need to explain what couldn’t be explained. 

Except Peter did the unexpected. He flicked out his fingers at Neal and murmured _obliviate_.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The sound of Peter and Elizabeth’s laughter jarred him out of a stupor.

“Neal, you are such a good person.” El gave him a hug. 

“I – uh – am?” He looked from her to Peter, who was smiling at him with tremendous pride, to Harry, who was holding his hand and looking at him like he was a hero. “What?”

Harry stroked the back of his fingers. “We were talking about how we’d met.”

“We were?” Neal could vaguely remember being angry at Peter, but he couldn’t remember why. He didn’t remember the four of them moving out to the patio and sitting down either. There were four glasses of wine on the table, his was nearly empty and so was Peter’s. There was a second bottle opened and breathing, this one the Shiraz he’d brought.

“Yes – you don’t remember telling Peter and Elizabeth how you came to my hotel after stealing back my wallet?” Harry kept up that distracting caress. 

Neal shook his head slightly. “I – I guess not.”

“Maybe I need to cut you off.” Peter joked and took away his wine glass. “I hate to tell you, but Mozzie would be most disappointed.”

Neal couldn’t shake the confusion but he tried to defend himself. “I’m not drunk. I don’t get drunk on a half a glass of wine.”

“Half a glass? More like the best part of a bottle, sweetie.” El nudged at him. “Anyway, we should probably move inside and have dinner.”

“Okay.” He looked at Harry, then at Peter. Both men were smiling normally and Neal couldn’t think of a reason why he’d thought they were at odds.

Harry let go of his hand and he stood up, but almost immediately sat back down again. His head was spinning and he was feeling woozy. 

“Neal?” Harry, Peter and Elizabeth looked at him, a worried expression on each of their faces.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” He pushed himself back to his feet and this time he was fine. “Maybe I did have a little too much to drink.”

“You didn’t have anything to eat since breakfast,” Harry noted.

Neal nodded and accepted the excuse – except in his head, it felt like a lie. Wine was like water to him, and not even a whole bottle would be enough to make him phase out like this – even on an empty stomach. Peter gave him a curious look, concern and maybe a touch of guilt in his eyes, but what the hell did Peter have to feel guilty about?

Dinner was delicious and Neal stuck to water, still feeling shaky and out of sync with everything. Before dessert, he excused himself and went up to the bathroom, but not out of any real necessity. He washed his face in cold water and stared at himself in the mirror. It was his face, but he almost didn’t recognize himself. These were his features, but they just as easily could have belonged to another man.

He must have been in the bathroom a long time, because Peter tapped on the door and asked, “Neal, are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine. Just fine. Give me a few?”

“Okay.”

He took a deep breath and wiped the remaining drops of water off his face before opening the door. To his surprise, Peter was still there, waiting.

“All yours.” Neal gestured towards the bathroom.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Peter rested a hand on his bicep.

Neal nodded, suddenly overcome with emotion. Everything seemed to feel like it was falling apart and he didn’t know why.

“I like him.”

“Who?”

Peter chuckled. “Harry. Who did you think I meant?”

Neal shrugged.

“He seems like a good match for you.”

Neal had a hard time believing Peter. There was something else going on and he desperately wished he could remember what they’d talked about before they had moved out onto the patio. He couldn’t seem to remember anything between the time he rang the doorbell and that point in the evening.

“I’m proud of you, too.”

“Why?” Neal licked his lips and wished for a cold drink.

“Returning Harry’s wallet like that.”

“But I picked Tiny Bill’s pocket, so I’m not such -”

To his shock, Peter put a finger against his lips. “Hush. You did a good thing, that’s all that matters.”

Peter’s eyes were warm and approving and Neal felt his belly twist. He couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “We’re only using each other.”

Peter stepped back in surprise and Neal instantly regretted his words. “Using each other? What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing bad, really. Harry’s in love with someone he can’t have and I’m too much of a mess to even think about a serious relationship.” Neal hoped Peter wouldn’t ask any more questions. 

But of course he did. “He told you this?”

“No, but I can tell. And he’s let some little things slip. I’m not prying.” _And please don’t pry, either._ “Besides, he’ll be going back to England soon.”

“You’re not going to go with him?”

“Haven’t you been listening to me? We’re not like that. Besides, my life’s here. In New York. You know that. ”

“Really, Neal? You don’t have anything tying you down here. You could go with him.”

The hall light was too dim, because Neal must have misread the pain in Peter’s eyes. “This is my home, Peter. I’ve told you before, I don’t want to leave.” _I don’t want to leave the people I love. I don’t want to leave you._

And ironically, Peter asked, “Not even for love?”

“Jesus, Peter – what do I have to do to get this through your thick head. I don’t love Harry. He doesn’t love me. We understand each other and that’s what works.” Peter sighed and Neal gave into the bizarre urge to comfort him. “It’s okay, really.”

“I just want you to be happy, Neal.”

“I know, and I am. And when Harry gets on a plane and goes back to England, I will be unhappy for a little while. But you’ll call me up and tell me about a case that’s making you tear your hair out or we’ll brainstorm about what you should get Elizabeth for her birthday and I won’t be unhappy anymore.”

Peter was about to say something, but the moment was lost when Elizabeth called up, “Someone brought dessert and it looks delicious.”

He clapped Peter on the shoulder. “Don’t be long. I brought a red velvet cake and had to restrain Harry from stealing a piece.”

“Go and tell Elizabeth I’ll be right there. Need a few.”

Peter ducked into the bathroom and Neal let out a small sigh before going downstairs. Whatever was wrong with him seemed to have passed. Everything felt right and normal again.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Your friends are nice.” Harry thought he sounded like a prat but he had to say _something_. The silence was uncomfortable.

“They are. I don’t know what would have become of me if not for Peter and Elizabeth.” Neal chuckled drily, “Oh, wait – I do. I would have stayed a master thief – the world’s greatest con man. Lived a life of ease on my ill-gotten gains.”

“And I would have been miserable and ended up leaving New York without ever meeting you.”

Neal gave him a terrified look.

Harry had to laugh. “Don’t worry – I just mean that you returned my wallet. I probably would have just given up and gone back to England if I hadn’t met you. I wasn’t having a lot of fun wandering around New York City on my own, and getting my wallet and ID stolen was just about the last straw. Relax, I’m not in love with you.”

Neal didn’t have the grace to hide his relief. “Thank god. I mean – don’t take it personally, but we’ve never really come out and said anything and I’m not looking for anything permanent.”

_And it doesn’t help that you’re as helplessly, hopelessly in love with Peter Burke as I am with Draco Malfoy._ Harry banished that thought and continued to talk about their evening. “Anyway – they seem like good people. They care about you.”

Neal nodded. “Yeah – I’ve told you a lot about them, but it doesn’t really come close to the whole picture.”

Harry had to wonder what Neal would say if he found out that Elizabeth Burke threatened to tear him limb from limb.

_Bespelled, Neal wandered over to the couch and started petting the Burkes’ dog. He’d remain oblivious to the conversation until Peter released him._

_To Harry’s shock, the man turned on him in barely contained rage. “What the hell are you doing dating Neal Caffrey?”_

_Harry was confused by Peter’s anger. “He’s nice and smart and I really don’t care that he’s a muggle.”_

_“Yes, Neal is nice and smart and he’s a muggle and none of that matters. You are a married man.”_

_Ah. “No, not anymore. I guess you haven’t been keeping up with the news. My divorce from Ginny was front page copy on The Daily Prophet for weeks, and sent sales of The Quibbler to stratospheric heights for almost a year.”_

_Peter made a face. “I have little interest in gossip – regardless of the source. And I’m sorry.”_

_He shrugged, not sure if Peter was offering sympathy or apologizing. Peter clarified that._

_“But still, I don’t like the idea of you dating Neal.” He looked over at the man in question, who was thoroughly absorbed in giving the dog a belly rub._

_“Why?”_

_“Why? You really need to ask that? You’re an Auror. You spend your life fighting against dark magic. That’s why you’re in New York, right? You’re going to draw Neal into something he’s not equipped to handle and he’ll get hurt or worse. He’s had a hard enough time – ”_

_Harry cut him off. “You’re wrong, Peter. I’m on leave from the Ministry. I handed in my resignation, and while they persuaded me not to make it permanent, I’m positive that I won’t be going back.”_

_“To England?”_

_“No, to the Ministry. I’m done with that work. You know what it’s like – you lasted a year before you bolted. No matter what you do, there’s always someone else looking to take over the world.”_

_Peter shook his head, it was clear he didn’t quite believe him. He was probably remembering the too-young, too-eager, too-ready-to-save-the-world-again young man that he’d worked with._

_“Neal’s a muggle – but he’s not mundane. Don’t confuse the two. He attracts trouble just by breathing. The more time you spend with him, the more you’ll realize that.”_

_“I don’t believe you. Neal’s smart, creative, and thoughtful. He’s got a good life here and I know he doesn’t want to lose it. Maybe you should think a little more of him.”_

_“I think the world of Neal – we both do.” Peter looked over at his wife, who nodded her agreement. “Did he tell you he’d been kidnapped and held hostage for three months? His last girlfriend – who’d been arrested for multiple homicides – arranged it. He’s all bright surfaces and polished smiles now, but he’s still fragile.”_

_Neal had told him about the kidnapping, but he’d treated it as a joke. Harry had no idea that he’d been held so long. “Look, you know Neal, and the two – excuse me, the three of you – have a long history, but he’s a competent adult. He can stand on his own two feet.”_

_Elizabeth spoke for the first time since she’d recognized him. “Yes, we know Neal, and we know that he’s strong and capable of making his own decisions – even when they are ones that can backfire very badly. But our concern is real – you have to see there’s going to come a point when you won’t want to keep your secrets or you won’t be able to keep them. Then what happens?”_

_Harry’s temper started to rise. “And what about the two of you? You’ve been keeping the same secrets.” He looked at Peter. “Especially you – You are one of the greatest wizards of your generation.”_

_“And that means nothing. Magic is not part of our lives, Harry. The spell I just cast was the first one since I finished my assignment with your people.”_

_He didn’t believe him, especially since Peter hadn’t used a wand and that sort of magic takes great skill. But short of calling him a liar, there was nothing he could say. “Look, Neal doesn’t love me and I don’t think he ever will.”_

_Elizabeth shook her head. “Neal’s romantic, Harry. He wants to love; he needs that emotional connection to another person.”_

_“Which isn’t going to happen with me. He knows that.” Harry didn’t say that Neal already was in love, that he had the emotional connection they thought he needed. It just wasn’t with him._

_“If you hurt him, they’ll never find your body.”_

_Harry’s jaw dropped. The impression he’d formed of Elizabeth Burke was one of rock-solid steadiness – of love and compassion and devotion to her husband. He hadn’t expected her to threaten him over Neal Caffrey. But there she was, a wand produced from somewhere, ready to do battle with him._

_“Hon.” Peter held out his hand, as if to take her wand. “You don’t need that. We’ll take care of him the same way we took care of Fowler.”_

_Harry had no clue what they were talking about, or who Fowler was, but it didn’t sound good. “Look, this is all very unnecessary. Talk to Neal – he’ll confirm what I’ve told you. You have nothing to worry about.”_

_Maybe he had gotten through to them, because both Burkes seemed to relax. Elizabeth put her wand away. Well, not really away, since she stuck it back in a potted plant. Harry had to smile – wise choice, hiding it in plain sight._

_Now they had to fix a more immediate problem. “What are we going to do about Neal?” The dog had gotten tired of the belly rubs and was sleeping on his bed. Neal was still sitting on the couch, hands draped over his knees, and staring vacantly out across the room._

_Elizabeth and Peter helped Neal to his feet and as they went out to a small patio, Peter said, “Just follow my lead.”_

“What are you thinking about?” Neal interrupted his musings.

“Nothing important.”

“I hope Peter wasn’t too overbearing. He can be a little protective.”

_You don’t know the half of it._

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal knew his time with Harry was running short. Not that Harry had said anything, but Neal was good at reading him. There was a tension in the other man that seemed all too reminiscent of his own feelings when he’d been on Cape Verde. An inescapable longing to go home, no matter what troubles that would bring.

Like he’d told Peter, he’d miss Harry. The sex was better than good – neither of them felt the need to fall into assigned roles. Sometime he’d top, other times Harry would. Neal had never been one for random hook-ups, but there was something to be said for uncomplicated sexual pleasure and it was nice to share a life with someone, even for a little while. 

A week after that strange dinner at Peter and Elizabeth’s, they’d gone clubbing at a new place in Chelsea. Harry on the dance floor was something to be savored, especially in a skin-tight white tee shirt that showed off his nipples and jeans that cupped his ass like a lover. Neal never thought of himself as particularly kinky, but he had the almost overpowering urge to do _things_ to Harry on the dance floor that just might get the both arrested.

Harry’s eyes gleamed behind his glasses and he’d smiled, a dirty twist of his lips that made Neal wonder if he could read his thoughts. The song – something throbbing and sensual – ended and Harry took his hand, pulling him off the dance floor. The lust that infected Neal’s brain was contagious and he let Harry pull him towards the men’s room.

Neal wasn’t normally a habitué of men’s rooms in gay dance clubs, he was too fastidious for that, but the backbeat from the latest track the DJ was spinning and the challenge in Harry’s bright green eyes was an irresistible combination. Harry led the way past two men in leather humping each other against the sink, but it was Neal who pushed Harry into an open stall, slammed the door shut and shoved Harry against it.

He humped him for a few moments, enjoying the pressure of that perfect ass – hard, round apples – against his cock, the soft denim catching on the button fly of his leather trousers with each movement.

When it became too much, Neal pulled, and Harry’s own button fly parted. He shoved the pants down the man’s thighs, and ran his fingers between those ass cheeks. The flesh was hot and damp with sweat and as Neal rubbed a little harder, he realized there was lube there, too. 

“You’re such a dirty little boy, prepping yourself like some fuck-slut.” Neal heard the words coming out of his mouth but he couldn’t quite believe he said them. But his mouth disregarding his brain’s attempt at censorship, as filth kept spewing forth.

“You want my cock?”

Harry nodded, his cheek sliding against the dirty metal stall door.

“Say it, say it.”

“I want your cock, I want you to fuck me.”

“Here, in the john? Like a whore?”

Harry breathed a single word, “Please.”

Neal’s hand shook as he pulled out his wallet and found a condom. It was a miracle that he didn’t strangle his dick rolling it on.

Despite the lust, despite the near-seismic urgency, Neal took care of Harry, prepping and stretching him until Harry was whining and begging and rutting against the stall door. 

Finally, Neal positioned his cock against that sweet, tight hole and pushed. All the careful preparation was worth it as he sank deep, almost to his balls.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

And Neal did just that, he didn’t have the will, the control anymore to be nice, to be a gentleman. He fucked Harry’s ass like a damned machine, hands clamped on his hips, hips whipping back and forth, ramming him hard against the door.

Harry just kept pushing back, taking more and more until he came, his hole clamping down on Neal’s cock, impossibly hot and tight and he orgasmed until the world when white.

It might have been his heart or maybe someone was pounding on the stall door, but Neal finally came back to himself. He pulled out of Harry, wincing a little, and disposed of the condom.

“You okay?”

Harry turned around, his hair plastered to his face, his glasses askew and his eyes glowing like emeralds under the ugly fluorescent lights. He kissed him, murmuring, “I’ve never been better.”

It took a little maneuvering in the tight quarters, but they managed to make themselves decent. Neal’s hands were still shaking a bit as he buttoned his pants and straightened his shirt.

Harry looked delicious and Neal regretted not taking more time. He wanted to play with Harry, to explore the mysteries of that body, bring him close over and over again, only to pull back and make him suffer so beautifully.

Neal stopped, shocked at his train of thought. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t really dominant, he certainly wasn’t kinky. _It must be the music._

“Want to go back to my room?” Harry whispered in his ear. “The hotel’s just around the corner and you can do anything you want to me.”

Neal looked at the other man, even more shocked. Harry laughed and the spell broke. “Sorry, you should see your face!”

Still disoriented and a little woozy from his spectacular orgasm, Neal swatted at Harry. “Don’t do those things to me.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” They fought their way through the club, avoiding the bodies in constant motion. The late summer night was still warm, but the oppressive humidity from early in the season had been replaced by a cool breeze from the river. In another few weeks, it would be downright chilly this time of night.

They ended up at Harry’s hotel, arms slung around each other. The desk clerk greeted them with a smile and a bit of news. “You’ve got a visitor, Mr. Potter. He’s waiting in the lounge. He didn’t leave a name, though.”

Harry dropped his arm and straightened his tee shirt, suddenly and quite obviously upset. “I can’t imagine who’d come looking for me.”

Neal tried to make light of the moment. “You haven’t lost your wallet again?”

“No, of course I haven’t.” He patted his hip pocket and came up empty. “Shit.”

Neal grinned and handed the purloined wallet back to him. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

Harry gave him a look that was too much like the one Peter used to give him when he’d pull that same stunt – exasperation and fondness mingled in equal quantities. 

“Want me to come with you or would you prefer if I left?”

“Would you mind?”

“No, not at all.” Harry had been married, and he’d hinted to Neal that he wasn’t out of the closet to many people. If they went into the lounge together, dressed as they were, it would take much to draw the right conclusion. He’d regretted not doing a better job of mauling Harry in the men’s room, not putting his mark on him, but now he was glad for his self-restraint.

“Thanks for understanding.” Harry leaned in and kissed him. 

The kiss was sweet and gentle and tasted of sadness. Neal had the inescapable feeling that this might just be goodbye.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Neal nodded and stood there as Harry went into the lounge. He didn’t leave, though. The desk clerk was involved in a deep and meaningful conversation with her girlfriend and Neal took the opportunity to slip into the maintenance closet at the far end of the lobby. He’d scoped it out on one of his early visits – old habits were hard to break – and discovered that it opened into the lounge area. 

He opened the door a fraction, just enough to see Harry’s visitor. The man was in profile to him, and even in the lounge’s dim lighting, Neal could tell that he was about Harry’s age, tall, with nearly white-blond hair and strong features. Good looking, but not breathtakingly so. More like a thoroughbred, with his hair receding from a wide, aristocratic brow.

What was a hell of a lot more interesting than his looks was the man’s posture. His arms were crossed over his chest, but he was leaning into Harry’s personal space. Harry’s own body language was equally conflicted.

It was a pity he couldn’t hear what the two men had to say.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Draco Malfoy was the last person he’d ever expected to find waiting for him at his hotel.

And New York City was the last place he’d ever expect to find Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Is there someplace we can talk?”

Harry didn’t want him in his hotel room. “Here is fine.”

Malfoy gave an annoyed huff and nodded. Of course, to Harry’s annoyance and no small concern, he pulled out his wand, gave a discreet wave and muttered _muffliato_.

“Don’t do that again.”

“If you were more cooperative, I wouldn’t have had to in the first place.”

Harry closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Why are you here?”

“To give you this.” Malfoy handed him a letter. The parchment was heavy, new sheepskin – but the weight was more than physical. There were a dozen charms laid on it, all keyed to his own magic. 

He was in no rush to open it. “Do you know what’s in here?”

Malfoy said nothing.

“Should I be worried?”

“Look, Potter – I’ve travelled a long way to deliver it. Open the damn thing already.”

Harry suppressed a smile. Jerking Malfoy’s chain was as rewarding as ever. “Why you?”

“Because they asked, all right? Because they said, ‘Mister Malfoy, remember your position here, remember what you owe and to whom you owe it.’ So here I am, a glorified errand boy.”

That angered Harry. Draco had paid for what he did and he didn’t like it that people were unable or unwilling to let the past go.

“For Merlin’s sake, don’t pity me, Potter. It’s not term yet and frankly hanging around Hogwarts when the place is empty isn’t something I particularly enjoy.”

Harry nodded and turned his attention back to the envelope in his hands. The seal pulsed with magic and as he slipped his finger between the wax and the parchment, it took a tiny drop of blood. The seal dissolved with a dramatic sparkle and Harry was grateful that the lounge was empty. 

The contents of the letter was as simple and as straightforward a communication from the wizarding world could be, which meant it was filled with florid courtesies and nearly impenetrable formalities. But in short, he, Harry Potter, currently Head Auror (on sabbatical), was being offered a position as the permanent and full-time teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts. If he so deigned to accept this position, the school would appoint him as head of Gryffindor House. And in a few years’ time, should he desire it, his name would be most strongly considered by the Board of Governors as Headmaster when the current holder of that position retired.

Harry stared at the words. He wanted this so badly, as much as he’d once wanted to be a Auror. Every term, he’d come and give a few lessons, and each time it was harder and harder to leave. If it wasn’t for Draco …

“You _do_ know what this is, right?”

Now he answered. “You’d be the new DADA teacher.”

Harry nodded. “And the new head of Gryffindor.”

Draco clenched his jaw. “That I didn’t know.”

“Are you okay with it?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Why do you care?”

“If I take the job, we’ll see each other every day.”

Draco sighed and whatever fight was in him seemed to collapse. “It’s all right, Potter. Even if I didn’t owe you, it would be fine.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“No?” The man raised one elegant eyebrow at him. “You could have let me die. You could have testified against my parents at the Wizengamot.”

“Your mother saved my life, near the end.”

“And my father did his best to end it many times before that.”

“Look – that’s the past. I’ve spent the last sixteen years trying not to relive it. Are you sure you won’t have a problem working with me?”

“No, Potter. I won’t.”

There was something in Draco’s posture that confirmed his words. Maybe it was the tilt of his head, the way his body leaned towards him that spoke volumes.

“Then I think I want to do this.” He took a deep breath. “No – I _do_ want to do this.” 

“If you sign the document, they’ll know right away.”

“I don’t have a quill handy.”

Draco laughed. “No, I don’t suppose you’d be able to hide one in those – ” He waved a hand at his denims. “Trousers.”

_What?_ Before Harry could process the idea that Draco noticed his clothing, the man produced a pen. It was something typical Malfoy, heavy and ornate and probably a hundred years old. He scrawled his name across the bottom of the parchment and watched as the text of the offer was transformed into equally stilted words of a contract.

Harry had little patience for such antiquated formalities, but he’d have to learn to deal with it. Maybe someday he’d have the chance to change things.

_Probably not._

“Come on – I have a portkey to take us back to Hogsmead. It’s set to go off at one AM.”

“No, you’ll have to go without me. I’ll go back the way I came.”

“You’re kidding me, Potter. You’re going to fly in one of those aluminium cans the muggles use?”

“Yes, Malfoy, I am. I have some things to do before I leave.” Like say goodbye to Neal.

“Term starts in a week.”

“And I’ll be there.” He tapped the letter against his palm. “I’m already committed, remember.”

“Then I’m off.” Draco took the letter and tucked it inside his coat. “See you next week.” 

As Draco turned to leave, Harry called out. “Do you think, maybe, this time we might become friends?” 

Draco smiled. “You’re a git, Harry Potter. But maybe…”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Okay, good work everyone.”

Peter stood at the back of the conference room, watching with pleasure as Clinton led the wrap-up meeting for a major case the division had just closed. They’d broken an international identity theft ring that had stolen tens of thousands of credit card numbers, selling them on the black market and funneling the profits to terrorists. Arrests had been made in twelve countries and even though there’d soon be other criminals waiting to exploit security flaws in the global banking system, the team could take pride in the work they’d done over the past few months.

Peter enjoyed watching Clinton manage the operation, run the team, and interface with a dozen different law enforcement agencies with differing agendas. He had worked the agents like dogs, but worked just as hard. It would be a pleasure to announce his promotion next week. 

It was unusual to keep the same core group of agents; the Bureau was a meritocracy and didn’t hesitate to break teams up if it meant pushing an agenda. But Peter had fought to keep Clinton and Diana here, giving them both opportunities they’d never get, even with more senior titles, in smaller cities. It also helped that Clinton and Diana were accomplished wizards and the powers that be knew that if those skills were needed, they’d be needed in New York.

“Hey, boss, look what the cat dragged in.” Diana called his attention to what was going on in the bullpen.

A cluster of agents and civilian personnel were standing around, talking to Neal and Peter was hit with an almost overpowering sense of déjà vu. Over the last year, how many times had he walked out of his office and stared down at the bullpen, expecting to see Neal. Expecting but never finding him. 

Neal looked up. He was smiling, but even from this distance, Peter could see something in his eyes. He crooked two fingers and pointed, “Caffrey, my office – now.”

Everyone laughed as Neal made a show of dragging his feet, exaggerating his reluctance as he climbed the stairs.

Peter kept a smile on his face until Neal was in his office. He closed the door and sat down, waiting for Neal to say something.

Neal didn’t oblige. He busied himself with the brim of his hat.

Peter cracked first, “So, what’s up?”

“Got anything for me?”

_Ah._

“Possibly. We wrapped the big identity theft case – ”

“Yeah, I saw the press conference. I need to congratulate Clinton.” Neal sighed. “Anything else going on?”

Peter made a show of looking through the box of cold-ish cases he still insisted on keeping in his office, despite his position as ASAC. “Remember the Pederson accounting fraud? That’s still unsolved.”

“And it’s going to remain unsolved.” Neal didn’t even pretend interest. Back in the day, when Neal had no say in his assignments, he’d sweated hours over the Pederson file and came up empty.

“How about this one? It’s not a cold case, but it’s not a priority for the team either. Do you know who Etienne LaValle is?”

“Of course – bad boy rock star designer. Made a fortune from torn tee shirts printed with obscene gestures. What’s White Collar’s interest? Is someone counterfeiting his awful clothing?”

“Nothing so interesting. Last month, his collection of personal … objects was confiscated by customs under the global ivory importation ban.” Peter bit his lip and tried not to laugh.

“Personal … objects?” Neal mimicked his exact tone and the slight hesitation between the two words. “Ivory?”

Peter gave up and chuckled before handing Neal the folder.

Neal scanned through it and looked up, his eyes sparkling with humor. “You’ve got to be kidding me. He had a set of ivory dildos in his carry-on?”

“He says that they are legitimately acquired antiques. Customs thinks the provenance and the documentation is sketchy. Fish and Game passed it off to us.”

“And you’d like my opinion?”

Peter shrugged. “If you’re interested.”

“I don’t suppose I can see the _objects_ in question?”

“Don’t see why not, but they don’t leave the customs locker.”

“Peter!” Neal gave him that slightly exasperated _why don’t you trust me_ look.

They shared a laugh. Peter checked the time and it was close to noon. “Feel like grabbing a bite with me?” He figured Neal needed to talk – he didn’t casually stop by the office like this.

“You’re buying?”

He laughed. “What else is new?”

They found themselves back at the bistro where Neal had dropped his bombshell a few weeks ago and per their usual mode, they talked about nothing important until after they’d finished eating. Peter watched Neal over the edge of his coffee cup. He had a sinking feeling he knew why Neal came to see him.

“Harry went back to England a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry.” It seemed such a weak thing to say. And it was something of a lie.

Neal shrugged off his sympathy. “It’s okay. Like I told you, I knew he wasn’t staying in New York and I have no interest in going to England.”

“Did he ask you?”

“Ask me what?”

“To go with him.”

“No – it never came up.”

Peter sipped his coffee and searched for the right words. “His departure – it seems kind of sudden.” He wondered if there was some impending disaster that only Harry Potter could prevent. “Was he recalled to active duty?”

“No – he said that he was finally offered the teaching position he’d wanted. He had to get home right away – classes were starting in a week. Some fancy co-educational boarding school in the Scottish Highlands. Told him to watch out for the teenage girls, they can be relentless.”

Peter had to smile at the memory of one very relentless teenage girl. “And you? Are you okay?”

Neal shrugged again. “Yeah – I am.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at him, silently calling bullshit.

“Okay, so it hurts a bit. I liked him. But I think I liked having someone to share the nights with even more.” 

Peter’s heart broke a little at the loneliness on his friend’s face. This might be the wrong time, the worst time, but he couldn’t keep quiet. “You don’t have to be alone, Neal.”

Neal looked at him, his eyes wide, maybe a touch confused. Before he could come back with some witty retort, Peter gently placed his hand on Neal’s. “A few years ago, when Keller had kidnapped Elizabeth, you told me that you stayed because of me.”

Neal opened his mouth but Peter cut him off. “Yes, and there were a lot of other reasons, but when I asked you why you didn’t leave with Mozzie, you looked me right in the eye and said ‘you’. Whatever happened afterwards – and there was some pretty bad crap there – I’ve never forgotten that. Back then, you stayed because of me. After your kidnapping and the commutation, you stayed in New York. You could have gone anywhere, done anything, but you stayed. I think you stayed because of me.”

Peter could feel Neal’s pulse race.

“You’re not the only one who stayed in New York, Neal.” He took a deep breath and committed himself. “I stayed because of you, too.”

“Peter?”

“El and I – our marriage is strong. Our hearts are strong, too. I’ve never hidden my feelings about you from her and she’s always understood and accepted – hell, she told me I was crazy for not saying anything to you. But – but I never thought that you’d – .” Peter swallowed hard. “I should probably be shot – this is so crass. Harry just left and I’m …”

“Offering me everything I’ve ever wanted.” Neal turned his hand, capturing Peter’s fingers. “I can’t pinpoint when I realized that I loved you – maybe when I woke up with a splitting headache and remembered that you stole the security tape from the Hauser Clinic. Or maybe when I thought you had Kate. I felt so betrayed. But I knew I loved you when I was about to walk away and fly off with Kate. Why do you think I turned back? I couldn’t leave. Not back then, not now.” 

Peter couldn’t help but remember what Neal had once said to him. It was something meant to be trivial, part of an undercover operation, but he’d never forgotten it. And it never felt more like the truth. Life certainly did come down to a few moments, and this was one of them. He ran his thumb of the back of Neal’s fingers, feeling the heat and the life there. 

“I hope you never do.”

“Then I’ll stay. Forever.”

__

FIN


End file.
